Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (motivational books for men .TXT) 📕

me like she totally had me figured out, and she was like: “Are you Phoebe? I’m Emma. Kate’s in the back, do you want to go through?”

I nodded, and the second I moved, Alex shouted: “Kate! Customer!” again so loudly I swear it made all the shitty bric-a-brac rattle.

I flinched, which I know Emma thought was hilarious because I saw her biting her lip like she was afraid to laugh in my face.

Me (to Alex): Do you have to be so shouty?

Alex: I’m Alex.

Me: I know.

Alex: Hello. Nice to meet you.

Me:…

Alex: Those who aren’t seen must be heard.

Emma (nodding):…

Me:…

Turned out I didn’t escape running into Pat after all, because she was in the back with Kate. Apparently she doesn’t really do the till anymore now, because she has taken on a more “administrative role” (pricing bric-a-brac).

She looked me up and down as usual, and it was so obvious that she had a million things to say about:

my hair

my face

my school uniform

my mere existence

I was just like: “Pat,” and she was just like: “Phoebe.”

Kate tried to talk me into staying and helping out, but I was like: “No thanks, I’m busy.” (lie)

She told me that Emma and Alex are really nice, and wouldn’t it be great to make new friends, but I was like: “Thanks, but I don’t need friends, because, you know, lesson learned.” Besides: Pat.

PS: On my way out of the shop, Emma was all friendly like: “Nice to meet you, Phoebe,” which confused me, because looking back now, maybe the way I spoke to Alex wasn’t ideal.

I ended up not saying anything to either of them when I left.

PPS: I think I’m socially awkward.

Friday, January 12 #DoubleStandards

It appears that now we no longer have to hunt for food, some people have become too stupid to even purchase food, and in my opinion this should affect evolution.

I watched a woman throw a massive tantrum at the shops today when she was asked to use a self-service checkout machine.

She was like: “I simply refuse to use these!”

I bet she wouldn’t “simply refuse” state-of-the-art keyhole surgery, though.

I wanted to message Polly about it, but I didn’t.

PS: Mum sent a WhatsApp this afternoon, but I haven’t looked at it.

Saturday, January 13 #DesignerCatHell

Since I’ve been seen taking the bus to and from school for a week, Polly has cleverly deduced that I’m at Kate’s, and so today she was like: “Is your mum away for long?”

Me: She’s gone to Syria, so who knows when she’ll get back. If she gets back.

Polly: Phoebe, don’t say that. You can’t say that.

Me: I just did.

I honestly expected more from Polly. What’s everyone’s problem with the truth?

Mum’s job is dangerous; we all know that. But instead of admitting it, everyone’s always like: She’ll be fine.

According to the internet, over four hundred thousand people have died so far in Syria. That’s almost the population of Manchester. And I’m sure all their friends and family were like: Oh, they’ll be fine.

It’s always other people until it isn’t.

Like, I hate it, but at least I don’t bury my head in the sand about that, so if anything happens to Mum, I’ll be emotionally prepared.

In other news, the designer cats broke into my room and went to sleep on my school uniform.

And how is it possible that Kate doesn’t own lint roller?

It took a whole roll of Scotch tape to get those beige designer cat hairs off.

I should lock my door, but then Kate will think I’m antisocial (which is probably actually true, and maybe the real reason I secretly love the idea of sologamy and self-service checkout machines).

Sunday, January 14 #HelloFromTheOtherSide

Mum called.

She’s still in Ankara, and apparently it’s freezing and she’s not having a nice time.

Good.

PS: Polly hasn’t messaged me all weekend.

Instead, she’s posted a new Instagram story of her and Tristan feeding each other pizza.

Everyone’s like: “Aww! You’re such a cute couple.”

Lies.

Tristan’s vile.

Also, what’s wrong with you? Just eat your pizza like a normal person.

Monday, January 15 #Hysteria

Today we were in the toilets, and Polly was being all dramatic, like, staring at herself in the mirror, and then she was like: “I love Tristan. Do you think it’s too early to tell him?”

I was like: “It’s literally been two weeks, so yes, it’s way too early,” and then Polly got proper angry, like: “Why would you say that, Phoebe? You’re my best friend.”

WTF is wrong with everyone?

I Googled “true friendship” and came across this definition: “True friendship is when someone takes a position in your best interests in a crisis.”

Polly was having a crisis, and I was taking a position in her best interest.

Seriously, everyone needs to calm down.

And I refuse to lie to people about insignificant crap like that.

Tuesday, January 16 #DesignerCatDisaster

The cat got out. No!

Which means I destroyed Kate’s dream of an early retirement, because the cat’s most likely being shagged by a feral nondesigner cat as I write this.

I only left the door ajar for a millisecond because I had to put the bin out, and next thing I knew, it bolted out of the house like Wolverine on speed. I tried to catch it, but try catching a horny cat.

All I could do was stand by and watch its beige designer cat ass disappear over the fence.

Noooooooo.

I tried calling it for ages, I even walked up and down the street looking for it for, like, an hour, but nothing.

So, when Kate got home I was like: “I’m totally sorry, but the cat got out, and I can’t find it anywhere, and I promise I tried.”

Kate: Oh no. Which one?

Me:…

Kate (shaking her head, tutting, because she knows I don’t know which is which):…

Me: I’m so sorry.

Kate: I’m sure it was an accident.

Me: I actually think the cat planned it.

Kate:…

Me: Not funny, I know. I’m really so, so sorry, Kate. It just got out.

Kate (taking a deep breath): Well, it can’t be helped now.

You know when people say: I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.

That.

Kate says the cat